


Her

by Calliopy



Category: Icewind Dale II
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Fluff, Journey, Romance, Thief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 20:42:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6486745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calliopy/pseuds/Calliopy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary tale of Icewind Dale 2 from the perspective of Rizdaer from the IWD2 NPC Project mod. Explores his thoughts and reasoning within the Romance portion of the game as well as the journey itself. Rated M because of good ol' violence n' sex but actually more fluff than anything. Follows Domi and the G3 team's story and much of the dialogue is theirs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her

After they sent me from Neverwinter, after the men turned on me and condemned me for my own defence, the garrison were swift to shackle me and push me right to the front line of Ten-Towns: Targos. A frozen, blasted wasteland ravaged by waves of Goblin raiders and poised to fall in front of their unusually organised and persistent raids. Doubtless they expected me to be executed, or perhaps used as bait - a decoy butchered by orcish spears. I waited out the arduous journey below deck, a dangerous and inconvenient prisoner, barely fed and free to taunt and abuse. If the ship's passengers knew I was there, they paid me no mind, until in Targos, the Captain asked them to do his duty for him and deliver me to the guards. I was lead out onto the deck into searing light, blinking away tears to lay eyes for the first time on my would-be escort.

They were nothing, a mismatched pack of waifs and strays, led by a whelp of a girl, small and far too young. A tiefling - dark crimson markings cut across honeyed skin on her arms and neck, betraying her infernal heritage - wielding a ring of lockpicks and small blades strapped across her hips. She giggled and joked often with the insufferably cheerful gnomish girl who swooned over me, and I thought us dead at the first attack, but those blades danced almost as well as a drow's, and the gnome exploded into dazzling colour rarely dreamed of in the Underdark. The other three proved capable enough as well, and with some bribery, the tiefling girl was persuaded into finding the source of the attacks on the village. Once they had been dealt with, she was able to present me to the Guard Captain, and thus I expected our association to end, sold on to the next Mistress as is the lot of any male. But she surprised me.

The Captain was not enthusiastic about the prospect even of a seemingly half-drow to cause dissent in the ranks. The girl looked me over with flat, black eyes, appraising as any Matron Mother, and shrugged.

'He doesn't offend me, and he's a good fighter. Why don't we take him with us?'

The guard was as shocked as I, but more than happy to palm off his problem on another, so I trudged along in the shadow of my new Mistress, dutifully ignoring the nervous flirtations of the gnome and the inane drivel of the Elven druid, convinced the Elven and Drow races should unite.

She collected slaves, this woman. A planetouched sorcerer trailed after her, the pathetic adoration in his eyes like that of a beast crippled by domination spells. Villagers wheedled and begged and cajoled her and she listened and spoke with a measured tone, slipping talk of rewards and payment in with such a silver tongue that the idiot things tripped over themselves to hand her their worldly goods. She cast an appraising eye over every object under her hands and soon we were well-equipped and rich, and the townsfolk raised their hands cheerfully to greet her wickedly innocent smile as they approached. She proved to be a master of the shadowed arts, prowling silently ahead to scout, picking locks and disarming traps with nimble fingers. It was little time before it became clear why she was Mistress.

I charged on her command and arcane energy whizzed past from all directions as she sprinted beside me, pulling her blade from the guts of the goblin in front of her and kicking its body down with her boot. She spun, cloak whirling, and the goblin ten paces in front of me sprouted a dagger hilt from its throat. I swung a blade as we passed to remove its head and then we were both on the shaman, two blades, a flail and a hammer intertwining to form a deadly puzzle box. He was dead before he hit the ground.

The rest of the onslaught fell quickly after that, yet there always seemed to be more asked of us. Breaking the river dam was simple enough, the idiot orcs howling guttural instructions to each other made their traps and firebombers easy enough to avoid, but the drums which summoned worg riders made progress slow and the Goblin fortress itself contained evidence of a deeper plot. We journeyed through the freezing snow, red-cheeked with stiff fingers, and I huddled close to the fire at night, refusing to recall the steady warmth of the Underdark. The sorcerer spoke often of Mulhorand and I cursed the wretched surface where light and heat must coincide.

She sensed my discomfort then, I think. She was a mystery, fierce and shrewd, demanding her due and casting a Matron's presence before her, but silver tongued and never cruel. She cried with laughter when the gnome mixed berries into the soap to dye the druid's hair, listened patiently to her rambling anecdotes. She was positively sweet to the broken sorcerer, tolerating meaningless, meandering, philosophical speeches from both him and the arrogant druid. She planned and schemed with the halfling rogue, plucking unseen jewels and hidden troves, seeing the secret places everywhere we travelled. She worshipped freedom, coveted gems, adored the open sky. On the battlefield, she was the embodiment of graceful fury; precise, skilled, mesmerising to watch. But with me she was cautious. I wondered later if she knew how to approach me at that time. Still, she was as kind as I could have expected, kinder even, and I was fed and treated the same as her other companions. But I was a slave and she owned my life, and I served her as blankly as any other Mistress.

After the fall of the Goblin King, we sailed on the airship under the cursed sun in the freezing air. I crouched in the shade by the rail. My eyes streamed and my lungs burned. She hunkered down by me wordlessly and wrapped her scarf around my face, expression blank, tugging my hood further forward to shield my eyes. Her fingers brushed my cheek and neck as she did and her planetouched hands were warm, smooth. I sat frozen, unsure how to respond, and she met my eyes as her hands pulled away.

'You're welcome.'

And she was gone, leaving lingering streaks of warmth on my face, clearer eyes, lungs which no longer burned with cold. My thoughts ticked over as I considered her act, but I soon realised it for what it was - maintenance of a valuable possession. She was smart, and strong and protected her assets. I glanced back to where she now leaned against the railing, red hair tumbling in a thick horsetail and shining in the sun, barely restrained with a leather tie. She gazed out with dark eyes, the crimson marks on her neck accenting the line of her jaw, the bright sunlight brushing her full lips. Her cheeks were slowly turning rosy with cold and all at once I caught the warm, spicy scent of her on the scarf over my mouth and realised she had no other. I moved at once to return the scarf, but as I stood, her face slipped into a frown, then a gape, and suddenly there was shaking and shouting and then the storm ripped across the airship and we were falling, crashing in eerie silence.

When the flurries of snow and debris settled, we came to sprawled across the floor, and of course the airship needed to be repaired so spells were cast and potions were drunk and out we went, back into the blinding snow. She charmed our way past the druid clan, but the accursed dragon woman appeared again and cast down their Matron. We might have been permitted to leave anyway, had my Mistress resisted the call of her light fingers, or managed to crack the trap on the chest. The alarm blared, a flaming bolt scorched a dark line across her neck and we slaughtered the clan as they charged in, the grace of the great cats they summoned alongside them almost matching her own. She grinned as the halfling berated her for her carelessness, and I saw the gems twinkle in her palms moments later as they vanished into her belt pouch. She caught my eye and winked at me, raising a finger to those lips and I almost smiled back before remembering I was a slave and turning back to the task at hand.

As we worked our way through the ice temple, lifting shining things from shrines and running up the back of the Rhemorhaz to slide blades in the chink in armour at the back of their heads, she began to take an interest in her pet. Initially, she was almost gentle, asking little things about my heritage or my past. I answered honestly, but cautiously, reasoning she could only have one reason to want to know anything about me and unwilling to be further controlled. She spoke openly enough when I asked about her own past, a merchant's daughter by day who played in the streets at night, restlessly pacing a cage of expectations and inheritance. Her fingers brushed my arm with a bandage, she watched me from across the room when she thought I couldn't see. Once, when the crystal temple bent and reflected the light so hard that I couldn't continue, she stopped the group and bade me close my eyes. I was reluctant but she was my Mistress and I obeyed.

I crouched and leaned back against the wall, closing my streaming eyes as she positioned herself so her shadow fell over me. She waited patiently and I beheld her in the infra-red spectrum, and with that sixth sense that all Drow warriors learn to fight in the dark. Her infernal blood gave her a heat which caused her form to glow in the merciful blackness behind my eyelids, but she simply stood, patiently waiting for me to recover and shielding me with her body until we could move on.

We made short work of the initiates and before long we had unravelled the riddle of the painting and found our way to the three sisters running the temple. The third was a sorceress, skilled in the art of misdirection, and she proved a challenge to defeat, with much damage dealt to my Mistress and her companions. The priestess' dying screams still echoed in the icy hallways as my Mistress slumped against a wall, a ragged hole in her chest where a shard of hardened ice had pierced her armour. The edges of the wound were wet and puckered and she oozed blood still. Her face was twisted with pain. I knelt beside her and helped her remove the armour from her shoulder. She held her arm stiffly, and winced as the leather plate slipped off her elbow.

'Forgive me, Mistress.'

Her eyes were closed and her breathing was ragged. Her sigh was pained but patient.

'I am no one's mistress.'

'Yes, Mistress.'

I peeled her shirt away from the edges of her wound, and she hissed through her teeth.

'Leave it be. Diriel'll be done with Peony in a minute.'

'That won't matter if you bleed out.'

I wadded up shreds from her shirt and pressed them hard over the wound to stem the bleeding. She bit down on her lower lip and groaned, but didn't move my hand away. I kept the pad pressed down firmly, feeling her heat under my palm. Her face was very pale.

'You don't need to nurse me, you know.'

'I live to defend you, Mistress.'

Her sigh was more irritated this time.

'Listen to me, you insufferable drow. I am no slaver. If you serve me, you do so a free man.' Her eyes opened and glared at me fiercely. 'Nothing is more sacred than freedom. If your choice is to serve, so be it. But don't make me a puppet for your pride.'

My hand remained, pressing the pad into her shoulder, a picture strangely at odds with the frustrated words slipping between her parted lips. I didn't reply, and we sat in silence until the druid came to minister to her.

After the temple, we came down into the frigid lowlands, stumbling across a nomadic village where we rested and took on provisions. My Mistress teased out a rumour that the village elder could tell us how to get through the fell woods, and initially she made a simple bargain to assist the village with some missing children in return for the elder's assistance in the wood. The witch responsible was simple enough to dispatch, but the cursed folk asked for more and more and I sensed her impatience at the mounting demands. In the end, she threw up her hands and abandoned them and the druid lead us through the woodlands by track and stealth.

Of course, nothing is ever that simple. The confounded half-blood leaders of the Legion appeared to taunt us once more, calling up the dark guardian spirits of the forest to block our path. The guardians loomed high above us and the wild delight on her face as she drew her blades, cry ringing out as she vented her frustration on the hapless treant, was breathtaking to behold. She took one of their looming number down unaided. Despite myself, I was increasingly less able to fault her prowess in combat, her masterful use of dirty kicks and quick, nasty little strikes giving a glimpse into the streets she had run at home. We're it not for her shining warmth, a beacon to any who could see in red, she might have been at home in the cool tunnels of my birth.

She examined me almost as closely in those days as I did her, studying and watching at odd times. Her insistent touches continued, always unexpected, always teasing. She pinched my ear, touched my arm, ran elegant fingers up the length of my spine. Her eyes were on me often and I could not discern if her advances represented possession or desire.

Finally, as we descended into the river caves beneath the marshes, searching for a way under the Spine of the World, her curiosity or her possessiveness got the better of her. As we approached the cave, an enormous white drake crashed out to meet us, hissing, and the answering screech from the wyverns we had not spotted caused us to spin on the defensive.

Leaving the wizards and priests to deal with the wyverns, we sprinted forward, weapons drawn, to battle the fearsome creature. She reached it first but sprinted past it and as he cumbersome thing tried to spin after her, my hammer shattered the hardened scales on the side of its rib. It screeched and turned on me, sending a roaring blast of ice toward me which I was forced to roll away from. I heard it screech again and she appeared under its wing from the shadows, driving her slim sword into the joint of the wing with a precise thrust. The drake let out an ear splitting wail as it twisted, wrenching the sword from her grasp, but crippling its own wing, and flailing wildly. I raced forward to strike at its throat and it rounded on her, sending another lance of frost which she easily dodged and darted nimbly back in, tossing her second sword from off hand to sword hand and slicing neatly across the back of the beast's hind legs. It stumbled, crashing to the ground, and its momentum carried it several feet across the scree with both of us sprinting along beside it, ducking and leaping to avoid its flailing limbs. I reversed the grip on my warhammer and brought the spike down hard in between its horns with a wet crunch and a sharp crack. Gouts of warm blood poured from the cracked skull as the beast ground to a halt, and we paused, breathing heavily.

She stood, panting, staring at the beast for a moment whilst lights and whoops in the background suggested the rest of the party were coping well without our aid. Her eyes slid up to my face, and her expression remained, as ever, indecipherable to me. Her sword was wiped absently on her leggings then sheathed without looking, but her eyes never left my face. Her lips parted as if to say something, then stopped, then opened again. Hesitantly, almost questioningly, she spoke.

'Kiss me.'

Thoughts flurried through my mind quicker than the snow. Every experience of my life taught me that this was a command, to be obeyed as any Matron Mother, a demand for a warrior to satisfy his Mistress' carnal need. Yet she spoke often about my freedom, and her words had the cadence of a request, not a command, her touches of late had the sense of a caress. But still she was my Mistress, and it was to her orders I marched. I lived my entire life at the whims of females, whether the Matrons, the farmer's wife who bedded me in return for my life, or the mistress of the captain of the guard. The lot of a male is to serve. I am drow, and I obey. The new conflict swirled for less than a second before I carried out her order.

I took her in my arms and brought her mouth to mine, moving across her lips and feeling her sigh against me. For a brief moment, her sigh lit something in me, and for that brief moment her soft warmth in my arms and her lips moving against me made me pull her closer and press hard into her, feeling her arch under my grasp; but immediately I felt her soften against me, I recalled the Priestesses who would taunt males, speaking softly to them, whispering pleasant words in their ears, dominating them, before casting them aside, humiliating them, sacrificing them, torturing them for their amusement. I stiffened, and she pulled away, unsure.

'What's wrong?'

She turned my face back to hers, searching for something, and briefly, those soft lips were pressed back against mine, before she looked questioningly into my face. I couldn't think, or speak, confounded by her strangeness, and exhausted suddenly from two very different battles that hour. My lips, trained in survival better than my brain, spoke of their own accord.

'You honour me, Mistress.'

Something undefinable flickered over her face briefly, but then she threw up her hands, exasperated by something, and stalked off to collect her swords. She didn't try to kiss me again.

Once we found the Black Hand, we had thought the next step would be straightforward but once again she was forced to use her silver tongue to untangle the petty politics of the monks. Eventually, we found the incriminating documents of the snake who betrayed them to the Legion, and their Matron took the traitor with her when she left. There is no understanding the whims of females. I heard the druid express the same sentiment, surprise at leaving a position of comfort and influence with a lone companion already proven a traitor.

'She's in love, silly!' The gnome giggled and sighed, glancing sidelong at me under her eyelids. My Mistress rolled her eyes.

She walked into the eight chambers challenge alone, unarmed and seeming very small. Her pack sat at my feet as we waited, as she stumbled out of each successive challenge. Each time, she came out bloodied, hurting. She limped out panting, downed a potion, rubbed her face and then she was gone again, striding into the next chamber with a sense of purpose. Once, she came out looking grey, with tiny punctures all over her exposed skin. She reached wordlessly for the bottle of antidote, taking the whole thing in one swallow, and retching before disappearing again into the gloom. One of the leather ties from her hair stuck out from the side of her pack and I found it twining through my fingers as we waited, hearing the creak and groan of gears in the walls and questioning the need for anyone to face the idiot challenge alone.

She fell out of the last challenge, livid red burn marks marring her honeyed skin, a counterpoint to her crimson markings. Her left ear was a sizzling mess, streaks of molten metal glued to the burnt flesh where her jewellery had melted, and she collapsed to the floor, rolling onto her back and breathing hard. We crowded around her, healing potions and spells at the ready, and she grinned up through shiny, split lips.

'One more chapter of this sorry affair done. What next?'

She spoke to all of us, but her eyes were on mine, and there was something in that unreadable gaze which spoke only to me, if I only knew the language to listen.

As we packed to move down into the Underdark, I realised her hair tie was still twined around my fingers. Without knowing why, I tied it around my wrist.

I don't know why we were surprised to meet the renegade Drow when we did, but the drider pit brought back memories I would rather had stayed buried. I walked close to my mistress, shielding her from the watchful eyes in the dark, and protecting her from ambush, and she made good use of my closeness to watch me ever more closely. She brushed my fingers with hers; walked closer then necessary; touched my face, my hair; straightened my cloak. Sometimes she was so close, so attentive that I could feel the heat emanating from her skin. Sometimes she was distant, reserved, closed off to my presence. Her dark eyes on me were a constant mystery to me, her teasing voice tightened my chest. I couldn't fathom her mercurial moods.

The illithids fell fast enough under our onslaught, once the wizard and the sorcerer put their heads together to prepare a set of spells which shielded the mind from their probing rays. Smashing the central brain was short work as well, and we made camp in the twisted, echoing corridors of the razed citadel. As my watch came, I sat and regarded her sleeping form, bruises marring her cheek as they so often seemed to, melding into her crimson markings to take the form of shadows on her face. I mused on all the times in my life I had watched over sleeping women - how vulnerable even a High Priestess appears when wrapped in sleep! And yet still a male must serve her every conscious and unconscious whim.

I paused. Perhaps... that was what was behind those unreadable looks. I had heard surfacers speaking of their females expecting them to guess their needs and scolding them if they misjudged. I had dismissed it as weak men snivelling, thinking how fast they would be sacrificed under the remit of a cruel Matron Mother, but could it be that there was something more to it?

I peeled off my armour, wrapped my cloak about me and paced silently to the side of her bedroll. She lay wrapped deep in her blankets, soft breath forming tiny clouds as she slept. I slid my palm under her blankets to touch her shoulder. She shifted.

'Hmmm?'

'Mistress, I am guilty of failing to anticipate your wishes. Should you still find this male worthy, I will prove an able consort.'

She blinked sleepily a few times, then those dark eyes focused on me and her eyebrows raised slightly as her eyes roamed across my body. Several fleeting expressions passed over her face - surprise, confusion... for a brief moment, raw, naked desire. She settled on exhaustion, rolling onto her back, and rubbing her face with both hands, blankets slipping down over her collarbone. Her hands came to rest on her neck as she gazed up at me, exasperated.

'Rizdaer, I cannot begin to explain to you why this is inappropriate in the middle of the night whilst I'm wrapped in a blanket.'

I looked down at her impassively.

'Have I misinterpreted my Mistress' desire? Does this male displease you?'

'No! No, it's not that. Rizdaer, I...' She sighed, propping herself up on her elbows. The blanket slipped down further, revealing a swathe of flushed skin the colour of honey across the top of her chest. It looked warm, inviting, and I fought down the foolish impulse to reach out and touch it as she grasped for the right words. 'You're a handsome male - man. And a good fighter. But you're not a slave. This isn't how I want you to share my bedroll.'

I sat back on my heels. This isn't how I want you... So I had been right. Her flushed skin and roaming eyes were proof enough of her desire and yet she refused the opportunity to satisfy it with a willing servant. I could not think of a single reason for her to refuse, but there she was, blinking sleepily up at me with inscrutable eyes. Her face softened.

'Sit down. Let's talk about it.'

I grimaced.

'You surfacers are so fond of talking. I think I would rather crawl back to my bedroll like a scolded dog, Mistress.'

She frowned slightly, and lifted a hand to touch my face.

'Ok. Well, we can talk when you're ready.'

She laid back down and wrapped the blankets back about her. I felt her eyes on me as I woke the sorcerer for his watch, and all the way back to my bedroll. I lay in the dark, mind filled with uncharacteristic questions and dangerously free thought. My face where her fingers had touched me burned.

It wasn't long after that we found our way back to the surface. The light and the cold were almost a welcome relief after the unpleasant memories brought to bear by the Underdark. Naturally, an ambush was waiting for us, and naturally, their objection to our passage was brief. For no good reason I could see, we took the gods-cursed airship once more, this time to the great tree maintaining a small jewel of summer within the icy teeth of the mountains. We stayed there some days, moving strategically from a base camp to remove undead and Baneites from the area to allow safe passage.

The warmth was a welcome relief to the party, and even knowing that our misguided efforts were urgent, we remained there for almost a full tenday. I relished the heat, if not the light, and the party had taken to sitting together around the campfire of an evening. I amused myself the second night playing Game of Houses with pebbles and she was on me in a flash. It took her three days to learn most of the common gambits, five to beat me for the first time.

She spoke to me as we played, not chattering like the gnome or inane philosophical prattle like the druid and the sorcerer, just soft comments and intelligent observations on the game, on our journey, on the others... on me. I had seen her silver tongue used on so many others, her sweet words slipping into cracks in people and twisting like her blades in a lock to crack them open, but she took me unawares still. It was three days before I realised she was using it on me, teasing out stories and thoughts from me where others met deeper walls than even the Underdark held. She unravelled my mind piece by piece and knit it back together, somehow clearer and stronger for her touch. It was terrifying and exhilarating, the way she disarmed me, leaving me weaponless with no walls to place at my back; but with me laid open at her mercy, she simply smiled, and laid her own defences bare. Bit by bit, we spoke on war and on travel, on the past and the future, the far planes and the earth beneath our boots, and the threads of her own mind unravelled too, radiating around her so brightly that a man could reach for it and sift through, or wrench and twist it in his hands. Like a gem, the fine lines running through her could be seen and attacked by someone who looked from the right angle, but only with her, the master gemcutter to show them the angles where the light turned.

Still, I could not understand her.

If she did not like my company she certainly sought it out enough, and her infrequent touches became less so. Her warm fingers on my skin became so frequent that their absence became a concern, then their presence became strangely comforting. She caught me unawares once or twice, slipping her fingertips over mine, running nails gently down the inside of my wrist, and my own fingers twined thoughtlessly with hers as though it were the most common thing in the world rather than a deadly distraction. I checked myself and pulled my hand back but she only smiled.

We were in the ancient jungle, wiping snake blood from our blades and rummaging through pouches for treasure when I changed.

She stood over the Dragon Guardian's corpse, examining it and frowning. I returned to her side and she looked up at me and smiled at me. That was all. She smiled up at me, sword in hand, and her face was so open and unguarded, so genuinely pleased at my presence I was unable to frame words for a moment. She owned me, had bought my service and ensnared my mind. She could have ordered me to serve, commanded me to die and I would have been beholden to her merest wish. And yet that utter domination meant nothing to her, she desired nothing from me but my presence. A revelation washed over me; despite her ever-shifting mask and slippery nature, this was an area in which she could be being terrifyingly direct.

She still shone up at me, a question in her face and I suddenly felt the overpowering urge to sweep her up in my arms and press her against me.

'You look like someone just hit you with a stun glyph.'

Her tone was teasing. I composed myself with a grimace, but then she touched a finger lightly to the end of my nose, grinning. I couldn't help it, a smile tugged the corner of my mouth. My palm slipped involuntarily from her elbow to her shoulder as her fingers slid over my cheek.

'Such a perfectly strange woman you are.'

'Not a 'Mistress'?'

Her smile would not have looked out of place on a nymph. I opened my mouth to reply, but a sudden commotion caught her attention, and with a quick glance back, she, and the moment, were gone as we raced back to the portal ahead of the crumbling jungle and the earthquake.

Our return was awaited by the accursed half-demon Matron, who of course chose not to lower herself to deal with us. She left her Yuan-ti general, who mired the village with all manner of snakes and demons and goblins. The onslaught was furious and we rallied around her to cut wave after wave down beneath us, but the damage was heavy and it was some time before we had recovered enough to travel on.

The warding walls and heat of the Dragon's Eye were an undeniable comfort after months of open sky. Her eyes were on me often, and I found myself watching her even closer in return. She moved with almost unbearable grace in my eyes, like a dancer in soft leather boots. My mind strayed too frequently into visions of her moving gracefully under me, particularly when her face was flushed and gaze fierce after battle. She looked at me often across the field in those moments, with a wild, reckless expression on her face which made my knees buckle, but she always looked away. I ached to feel her close to me, walked at her side, longed for her touches and cherished her fleeting smiles.

I caught her in a mischievous mood as she padded back from a scouting mission, looking decidedly pleased with herself. I approached her up the tunnel as she was rolling something sparkly over her knuckles and tossing it from hand to hand. She grinned as I approached.

'Hi. Look what I found.'

She held up the agate between her fingertips, twisting adeptly to make it catch the light. Her evident pleasure in her catch was infectious and the words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

'Teach me to dance.'

She folded her arms, looking mischievous again.

'And what makes you think that I can dance?'

'I thought all surfacers could.'

'Four dance tutors walked out on me in disgust and pity. The fifth - the smart one - preferred to keep his job and his pay once he realised he could let me do anything I wanted during the 'lessons'.'

'Then stand still.'

I pulled her to me and her face and lips turned up to me, opening like a flower in my arms. The gem clattered onto the floor from her suddenly powerless fingers. Her soft mouth was a hair's breadth from mine, I could feel her warm breath on my skin as she spoke.

'There are creatures down-'

'I'll kill them.'

The kiss came crashing down, stealing her words and both of our breath. She gasped, and tried to speak.

'The others are-'

'I'll kill them, too.'

I brought my mouth back to hers, and her arms slipped inside my cloak to wrap urgently around my waist and neck, fingers coiling into my hair at the nape of my neck. She melted against me even as her radiance washed over me, and my hands found her back, her waist, her belly, her neck, revelling in the softness and the taste of her skin. We parted, gasping and she clung to me, unable to trust her usually-so-certain feet. Her vulnerability sent a thrill through me and I leaned into her jaw to murmur against her skin, drawing a soft cry from her lips.

'I am drow. We live on a whim.'

I ran my palm down her spine, causing her to ripple against my stomach and chest.

'Let's see if I can make you dizzy and lose your balance.'

I kissed her again, hard and urgently, slipping my fingers and palms over every spot on her skin I could find to make her knees weak and her body tremble. Her feet faltered, and her hands slipped through the chinks in my armour to brush a few spots of her own. I bit her lip, tangling fingers into her hair and feeling her moan softly into my mouth as I pressed her into the wall. She hung in my grasp, lips parted and breathing hard and I felt the grin spread across my own face at her dazed expression.

'Now who looks stunned?'

I couldn't imagine a sweeter sound than her laugh, and I touched my forehead to hers.

'You can call me a cheater.'

And up she went, spun around in my arms as that laughter echoed in the tunnel, and she cried out in delight and beat my arms and begged me to put her down.

The following days were dark, full of assassins and snakes and poison - and a time loop which threatened to blow the entire Spine of the World into a trench - but I could not have felt lighter. She seemed delighted that something in me had changed and her touches became even more frequent if that were possible, warm fingers slipping through my hair, under my cloak, 'accidental' touches in the corridors, stretching herself out lazily when she caught my eyes on her. We played Game of Houses nightly and somehow everything she said with that silver tongue reminded me she was a woman and of the taste of those soft lips, exploring mine in every dark corner.

We spoke one night, oddly enough, of mind flayers and their kin. How a mistress may convince her slave that he loves her as he knows nothing else. She made no secret of her hatred for cages of any make and her answers on the subject were curt.

'There can be no love between a slave and master. Using love as a tool makes it just another chain. It is different when two people just... love each other.'

I moved a stone and considered her defence, and my response.

'I thought it stupid. But love is a formidable force. It gives power like no other. It makes one want to sacrifice everything, even his life, for the one he loves.'

Her expression was patient.

'I am bound to you, hand and foot. I am sworn to your service and I owe you my life. You have dominated me. Anything you ask of me is yours, and yet you speak to me as an equal, a free man.'

I paused, watching her impassive face as she allowed me to finish.

'I... Have considered your position and found nothing you could gain from me loving you but love itself.'

Her eyes crinkled as she smiled.

'Took you long enough.'

I had run out of words. I moved another piece.

'Rizdaer, whatever you feel towards me, you feel it as a free man. I am no Matron Mother, you don't need to feel ashamed of having feelings toward me.' She paused, glancing upwards. 'Well, unless you feel burning hatred or something.'

I met her soft, dark eyes, reflecting the light from the campfire.

'Oh, it's burning, Lady. But it's not hatred.'

I finally went to her in the night several days later, in the fields before the gate of the Severed Hand. She had set her bedroll apart from the campfire, nestled in between two of the great sprawling roots of a tree. She sought the comforting weight at her back - she always slept against a wall. Almost Drow again in that respect.

She fairly shone in the suffusing glow of twilight. I brushed her bare shoulder with my fingertips.

'Mistress?'

Her sleepy blink reminded me of the last time I had come to her like this, and I suppressed a grimace. This time would be different.

'I thought I asked you not to call me that?'

'I... Lady, I must speak with you.'

She pulled herself up onto her side.

'What is it?'

I suddenly found it very hard to breathe.

'Lady, let us pretend that this ruse has worked, that we understand one another, that we can come together in passion, that-'

My shoulders slumped as my throat ran dry.

'How stupid is that?'

Her dark eyes were opened wide, regarding me again with a gaze I still lacked the language to read. My Mystery, inches away from me, looking, achingly sweet, into my face, utterly lovely and beyond comprehension. She spoke softly back to me, laying a gentle hand on my leg.

'There is no ruse. I will not pretend with you. Ever.'

I glanced at her, and my twisting fingers mirrored the twist in my belly.

'Then if there is no ruse...' My throat was hoarse again. I glanced desperately at her. 'Must I put it in surfacers' words before my throat dries up from explaining?'

'No, I can do that for you. You love me.'

She didn't look shocked or mystified, just sweet and knowing, and of course she had known. She had known before I had. She held me in the palm of her hand like a pebble, read my closed expressions like a book. She knew me too well. Relief and gratitude flooded me, followed by a sudden fierce pride and rising excitement. The heat in her face as I grinned showed how sensation flooded her as well. I pulled her to me.

'Clever surfacer.' I ran my hand slowly down her side, lifting her to bringing her lips close to mine. 'Yes, I love you. And I want to hear the same from your lips between rapturous moans.'

I felt her shiver and her eyelids flickered briefly, but she reached out her slender arms and pulled me back into her bedroll, whispering back into my lips.

'We shall see who is moaning louder.'

I pushed her shirt up over her head as I rolled down beside her.

'If you think your dare will make me stay silent, you are mistaken.'

She almost purred at that, and I lost myself in her honeyed skin, her form shifting lazily under me as we explored each other with hands and mouths. She was so warm, so smooth, so soft against me, a harsh contrast to the hard, lithe females of the Underdark. I used every trick I had ever learned, found every spot on her skin to make her writhe and moan and gasp, even as she bit down on the back of her wrist to silence herself. She turned towards me and her lips and hands moved down my body, showing me skills and sensations I had never experienced from the utterly selfish priestesses; I was forced to stifle my own sounds before pulling her back to me, rolling her under me. I moved between her thighs, tracing lines down her body with my mouth, my hands, revelling in her pleasure, in the sounds she made, and finally, she twisted under me, pulling me to her with need and desire written in all the lines of her face. She gazed up at me, utterly bare in all senses of the word under my hands, a goddess reclined in a nest of roots and blankets, and she whispered urgently, lidded eyes burning into my own.

'Fuck me.'

I was only too happy to obey. I thrust inside of her and her pleasured cry spurred me on as we lay together, braced against the tree, seeing and tasting nothing but each other.

She rolled against me after with a pleased little sigh, coiling a leg against one of mine. I pulled the blankets over her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, unable to stop the idiot grin plastered across my face. She blinked lazily up at me.

'Mm?'

'Yet again I am dizzy, and I don't care if it is a surfacers' love or a drow's ssinssrigg.'

I pressed my lips to her forehead.

'You know I have not ever craved a female day after day, night after night before I met you. And I doubt that I will ever stop now.'

She smiled wickedly, biting her lower lip, and leaned in for another kiss. That was the first night I ever slept with her wrapped in my arms, and I vowed never to do otherwise again.

The Severed Hand was another mess of fools and slaves begging help from my Mystery. She tolerated them easily, her mood was expansive and mischievous and free. She was a delight to watch, and to behold, and she found every excuse to tell me the same of myself. Twice, she pulled me ahead to 'scout', then pulled me into the shadows with her deft fingers unbuckling armour and teasing, tempting, before falling on me, under me, against me, with a burning hunger. We would return, straightening clothes and hair to the knowing glances and snide comments of the others, but they could have pelted me with arrows and I couldn't have cared less. She lit up my dark world and lifted me to her side, made me invincible.

Gods, how I love her.

She murmured often in my ear, whispering what she would do when we were alone, asking me to describe my own increasingly wild desires. I stopped dying the skin on my forearm in the shape of the first rune of her name, and when she begged me to stop dying my skin, I bleached the rune in instead. She would arch her back into me, moaning softly as she passed, roll her hips, stretch out her arms, pull me in under her hood for quick, sweet kisses until my knees buckled under me, I wanted her so much. In battle, she was my first and last thought, I feared seeing her fall, cut down by an unseen spear, more than losing an arm or an eye. Her sweet, teasing voice as we gamed, planned strategies, as she nuzzled against me in the dark was like the sweetest music. My sword hand is my most prized possession, but as her fingers curled into mine and her smile radiated out from her hood, I would happily have cut it off to please her.

We found the secret of the glabrezu and with the Globe of Essence destroyed, we were able to sneak and fight and manipulate our way up to the throne room, where the half-breed twins cried bloody defiance as she cut them down in front of her. They screamed as they fell and she screamed too, wild and ferocious, with blood spattered across her face and arms. She finally pulled the sister's head up, slicing hard across her throat and as the demonic Matron fell to the ground she met my gaze and that same wild, reckless heat burned in her eyes. I could not stop myself, I strode to meet her and she wrapped herself around me, armour dropping away even as the lesser battle raged around us and I bore her to the ground. She was wild, hungry, nails digging into my back, my teeth in her shoulder as I sheathed into her hard, past the clothes, past the armour, past her surfacers inhibitions, and took her under those bastard thrones, freed at last from the ridiculous quest, free at last to serve only each other.

The others found us as they regrouped after chasing down the straggling minions, half naked and laying shivery on the steps to the dead Masters' thrones. The legion were defeated, and Ten-Towns were suddenly ready to lavish praise and riches on us, but she grew restless before long, and she pulled me to her in her bed one night.

'Let's leave, sweetling. I want to see what else the world has in store for us.'

I turned her wrist and palm to my face and kissed them.

'I am Drow, my Mystery. I obey.'

We wandered the land for a while, seeing wonders such as most never dream of; cities of white stone; remote forest tribes living in treetop nests; caves and deserts; plains and seas. Her wanderlust flared always before our welcome was through and we moved on, seeking nothing, tasting everything and wrapped in each other. It was many months before the couriers found her - her father was dying and she would lose her inheritance if she didn't return home. She wordlessly handed the paper to me and we left that night.

I know not what she thought would happen upon her return to her father's bedside, but her anger was terrible as he spat and cursed and raged at her behind closed doors. I heard his yell and his strike out at her, the thump as she hit the wall, and I rose, weapons drawn, but the answering crash from the room and her fierce expression as she flung open the doors and strode into the hall showed again how little she needed me to protect her. I raced from the building with her away into the night. She fumed and plotted and I caught her sketching plans of the house in the way she always did when she came up with a scheme. 

"How can he say these things?" She demanded, stalking around the room of the inn like a caged beast. "How can he say any of this, knowing of my mother? How can he speak of evil and choices and love?"

She shook with anger, unable to be still. I calmed her as best I could and she stared defiantly up at me, caring more for the single insult to me than I ever had to the multitudes over my wretched life.

I left in the night, tearing myself away from her soft, sleeping form, one last caress of her cheek slicing though the hollow ache in my belly as she murmured softly in her sleep. I left without saying goodbye, hating myself, and sought out the inns and the taverns where pirates gambled and whores and mercenaries could ply their trade, but even to defend her, I could not bring myself to go far from her. I wandered the streets of her home. Empty days stretched out before me as the freest I have ever been in my life became the most lost I have ever felt. I drank and I fought and scraped the money to drink again and fell into a stupor of drink and blood and coin.

I was huddled in the slums of Luskan when the criers heralded the news across the district. A murder, a banishment. A rising, furious, queen. In less than an hour I was at her door.

Her dark eyes were reddened, shadows under them marring her flawless skin, jewels of angry tears still clung to her spiked lashes. She let out a strangled gasp as she saw me, and my chest almost burst to see her and to see her cry. She wrapped her arms desperately around me and her kiss took all explanation, all questions, all doubt, all rational thought from me and made them as nothing. She whispered sweet words against my skin and made a worthless slave a king again as she pulled me to her and murmured how she loved me and how she needed me; how I laughed in my mind as she laid before me, a solar begging an ant not to leave, as if I could conceive of a plane where she weren't the most valuable, most beautiful, most deadly flame which an insect such as I could only beg to be worthy to circle, let alone touch. Her shadow coiled around me as she clung to me in the dark, and we touched and kissed and whispered vows and promises which would once have been strange to my lips and hers.

Do not look for me there now, for I will not be present. The halls of my Mystery's home lie bare and empty as the ghosts of footsteps echo through the halls. She has gone, and I follow her across all the world and all the planes, carving out a tale for the ages in her company and in her arms.

I was born a slave and have lived my life a slave, a soldier, a prize to be purchased by any master. I know not how to live without orders, though she teaches me every day. She thinks me a free man and in a sense I am - I choose freely to be a slave of a sort to her. I have sworn many oaths in my life, and kept what I can in my flawed loyalty. I have sworn to serve, to hide, to fight, to die, to kill. But I will swear this on my life, on whatever soul I may have, on the lives and treasures of a thousand planes, and I will shatter the world to keep these words true. For all of the days of my life, and through all the worlds and lives beyond, I swear this.

I will serve no Mistress, but her.

I will worship no goddess, but her.

I will love no woman but her.

**Author's Note:**

> Port of my story from FF.net - not stolen!


End file.
